Best Friends Forever

Interlude - Courtney

I can still remember the day Dahlia came into my life like it was yesterday.

My family had just moved down to the bay area of California after my dad got a better job. I had barely adjusted to the first grade class in the last city we lived in and now I was going to have to readjust to a new school in the middle of the year. Something I knew would instantly set me apart, even at that young age.

I'd been so nervous standing in front of the class and stuttering through some kind of explanation about why I was here, intruding into their groove with my presence. The kids met me with empty stares when I finished and I looked to the teacher for guidance.

A girl in the second row of desks was the one who actually saved me though. She announced that there was an empty seat next to her if I wanted it, and I immediately took it with a grateful smile thrown at her. She smiled back and whispered that her name was Dahlia, and I knew right away she was going to be my friend.

The two of us were instantly inseparable and I found that it was easy to be around Dahlia and her family in a way that I didn't find with my own family. This wasn't something that bothered me, really, but it was a thing I was hyper aware of.

This awareness spiked when my parents began to discourage me from holding Dahlia's hand, something that we'd started doing so naturally I couldn't even remember a time when we didn't hold hands.

I didn't understand why this was such a problem and I threw a fit. This only led to me being grounded to my room, and specifically Dahlia, for two weeks.

I was so afraid that they would try to take me away from Dahlia again that I stopped holding her hand altogether after that.

When I got cast as Juliet in the seventh grade play, one of the first things I did was kiss Anthony Merritti–the boy who'd been chosen to be my Romeo–silly. I could remember the awkward way his lips moved against mine, like he was some kind of fish gasping for water, and how much I hated it.

It took me a few days to work up the courage to see Dahlia after that. I was afraid that all my worst fears, that boys might not be my thing, were suddenly coming true. But I rationalized things by believing that Anthony was just a bad kisser and I needed to do more research.

Which was why I asked Dahlia if I could practice kissing on her. I lied, saying that it was for Anthony's sake, but it was really just because I wanted to kiss her and find out if it was any different. If the lips I'd thought about countless times before would actually make me feel something beyond the awkward, icked out sensation I got from kissing Anthony.

And, boy, did I ever feel something.

From the first press of my lips against Dahlia's, I knew something was different. This wasn't the kiss I'd been dreading to feel again. It was soft and warm and tentative in all the best ways. As if we were both afraid if we moved too much something inside of us would explode.

I wasn't too proud to admit that I fled from that encounter like a coward and acted like it hadn't happened. At least until the night of the play when I was forced to kiss Anthony and remember all the things that I hated about kissing him.

Feeling his lips on mine made me feel dirty, and all I could think about as the play came to a close was finding Dahlia so she could wash me clean again.

Dahlia was so surprised to have me ambush her like I did. I can remember how she had frozen up in my arms, as if she were scared to touch me. Her lips had happily moved against mine though, and I reveled in the kiss we shared–one that felt right and good and clean–for as long as I could.

When we parted and I dove into the depths of Dahlia's soft gray eyes, I saw all the things in them that I felt in my own chest. They were things that no one in my family or social circle would approve of. Things I would die and kill and give up anything to have.

I closed my eyes and threw my arms around Dahlia, telling her how much I loved her with veiled words. Saying that she was my best friend instead of admitting that she might be the love of my life. Telling her that I could always rely on her instead of saying that she was the only thing in my world that made sense.

It was only right to let Dahlia be after that moment. I couldn't be what I wanted to be to her so I had to settle in being her best friend and nothing else. Helping her navigate the minefield of high school so that we could survive the experience together. And then maybe after it was all behind me and I was out on my own I could reconsider the possibility of letting myself fall in love with my best friend.

That was all before I started getting pressured to sleep with my then boyfriend, Jeremy Larson though.

I knew that I didn't want to sleep with him and I knew I wouldn't enjoy it. I'd only gotten together with Jeremy because he seemed like a nice enough guy that wouldn't do these kinds of things. But, as I was quick to learn from this point on, there was no one that was truly safe.

No one except Dahlia.

I didn't want my first time to be stolen by someone who wasn't worthy, like my first kiss had been. If anyone was going to take this thing from me, I wanted it to be the person who would covet it. Someone who would remember this sacrifice as fondly as I would.

So, I came up with another bullshit lie to ask Dahlia to do something for me that I never should have asked her to do. I was too weak to stop myself from doing it though, and when she agreed to help me, I didn't allow myself to feel bad that I'd successfully wrangled her into my trap.

I knew how sex was supposed to work–at seventeen I'd seen my fair share of porn already–but that was only when a dick was involved. With us both being girls, I wasn't quite sure what the semantics would be, but Dahlia was quick to set my fears at ease and take control.

She touched me under my shirt until my nipples were hard before whispering for me to take my pants off. Once I did her fingers were touching me in a way that I couldn't even achieve with my own hand.

The way she drove her fingers inside me and strummed my clit until my eyes rolled into the back of my head was more than I could handle, and before I could even comprehend it I was cumming all over Dahlia's hand.

I was shook by the way she had been able to coax the pleasure out of my body so quickly and impactfully. So shook that it scared me a little to even think about continuing to let her touch me beyond that one orgasm.

So, instead of admitting all the things that had been bubbling in my chest as we sat in the backseat–before she started branding me with her touch–I made a dumb joke and scurried off.

I'm sure Dahlia thought this all meant nothing to me. That it was just another moment between us that didn't make sense. But what she didn't know was that after I left her I closed myself in my bedroom, sunk down to the floor and cried until my body ached all over.

I knew that she was so close that I could grab her, but she still felt so far away from me. And all I felt anymore was numb and stuck.